


A W A K E N I N G

by qhuinn (tekla)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aeon Flux AU, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, BAMF Stiles, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Chest Hair, Clones, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Gunplay, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Lives, Thong, Top Derek Hale, Top Stiles Stilinski, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tekla/pseuds/qhuinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2011 a virus wiped out 99% of the Earth's population. Now, four hundred years later, all of the survivors live in Beacon Hills, the last city on earth ruled by the Hale regime. Although Beacon Hills is largely idyllic, people are routinely disappearing and everyone is suffering from bad dreams. Stiles Stilinski is a member of the Monicans, an underground rebel organization who fight against the Hale regimen. When Stiles is sent on a mission to kill the government's leader, Chairman Derek Hale, he discovers that there are deeper secrets to be discovered, and conspiracies to be foiled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A W A K E N I N G

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mightykumquat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightykumquat/gifts).



> Second prompt written for the Wolf Pack Charity Project. Dedicated to the lovely Brandon, in his special day. Happy birthday!!
> 
> This was supposed to be Hardened Leader!Derek and Deadly Yet Graceful Spy!Stiles. I have no idea what happened, but it turned into a bunch of porn and fluff. Hope you enjoy anyway! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. And you can find me on [tumblr](http://www.qhuinn.tumblr.com)!

** 2011 **

A virus kills 99% of the world's population.  
A scientist, Derek Hale, develops a cure.  
The five million survivors live in Beacon Hills, the last city on earth.  
The Hale dynasty rules for 400 years.  
Until rebels emerge to challenge the Hale regime. 

** 2415 **

Stiles Stilinski had a family once, a life. Now all he has is a mission.

He’s part of the rebels calling themselves Monicans. In a world where the Hale regime provides as long as people stay quiet, the Monicans refuse to trade freedom for a gilded cage. They fight to overthrow a government that silences them, they fight in the name of the disappeared, of crimes the regime denies.

The life of a Monican is not easy, but Stiles has never regretted the choice. He’s focused on the cause, accepting how isolated that’s made him. After losing everyone he cared about, a normal life wasn’t something he even wanted anymore. He’s fighting for something bigger than himself. He’s willing to give his life for the rebellion, knowing he’s fighting for what his mother defended until the day she was killed.

But not everything is assassination and spying, mind you. Stiles actually looks forward to certain aspects of his Monican life. For example, right now. As he walks through one of the parks of Beacon Hills, Stiles observes the people around him, searching casually for his objective. Once he sees the other Monican, Stiles walks straight to him. Danny locks eyes with him as they walk toward each other resolutely and without a word, they embrace and kiss. It’s not like having to make out with _hot_ agents for the greater good is that bad. But hey, he’s doing it for the whole of humankind. Stiles is a giver, okay?

He parts his lips, welcoming Danny’s skilled tongue as they exchange a small pill. To prying eyes, they are just two people kissing under a pretty cherry tree. Who doesn’t like to make out under one of those, right? Once the exchange is over, Danny steps back, giving Stiles a knowing stare as he smirks slowly. Stiles nods once, returning the smirk. It’s kind of their secret greeting. For all the times Stiles has had Danny’s tongue in his mouth, they haven’t exchanged more than a handful of words. 

The whole thing lasts less than a minute. Danny leaves in the opposite direction and Stiles moves through the peaceful garden in the other. The shadow of the Relical, the Zeppelin in memorial of all the people the virus killed all those years ago, blocks the sun for a moment as Stiles sits somewhere semi-private and swallows the pill, knowing what will happen next. He feels the pain, like needles pricking his skin all over, as he holds his breath and lets it fade slowly, closing his eyes to find himself in a big, white room.

In front of him there is an empty ladder. And in the middle of it is Lydia, his handler, an ocean of fire and fierceness as she regards him inquisitively.

“We need to stop meeting up like this,” Stiles jokes, smirking as he looks up at her.

"We have a new assignment," she speaks, sounding resolutely and strong. She is a hell of a woman, it’s no wonder Stiles had the biggest crush on her before going active. He’s never stopped flirting and fooling around, though. Being a Monican takes rejection out of the equation. After all, it’s not like he ever had a chance with Lydia, anyway. And he knows Danny wouldn’t look twice at him if they met randomly in the street, either.

"Alright, what is it?" Stiles asks, nodding.

"Your new target is Chairman Hale." She smiles, knowing the words will please him.

"Finally." Stiles grins, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. "I've been waiting a year for this assignment."

"The time wasn't right before, it'd have been a suicide mission.” Lydia tosses her gorgeous red hair back. “Today Hale is going to be preparing his address to the Council, it’s the perfect opportunity for-”

"I'll do it," Stiles confirms. "I'll kill him. You know I will.”

“I know.” Lydia nods. “We are all counting on you,” she concedes before Stiles is flooded with images and words. He sags on his seat in the park, supporting himself against the wall behind him as the data he needs to accomplish the mission enters his brain.

_Derek Hale_.

Main figure of the government. The reason why the Monicans exist. Stiles has never seen the man but he knows where he’ll be in one hour. It’s enough time to get ready. Already wearing his tight black clothes and packing all his little, yet lethal devices, Stiles slides through the dark streets, avoiding other people until he arrives at the Citadel. 

Stiles uses the map implanted in his right arm to follow the direction to the Forum, where Hale is supposed to be right now. Moving forward, lethal and quiet, Stiles leaves a trail of knocked down guards in his wake until he slides inside the place. Stiles is no more than a shadow, his lean body moving through the empty corridors until he can hear a voice.

It’s a man’s voice. Deep. Brooding. He sounds disinterested as he reads, his voice monotonic and flat. And yet, something inside Stiles tingles at the sound. Pulling one of his guns out, he walks steadily inside the theater. He’s moving behind curtains until he’s in the stage, just a handful of steps away from his target.

Derek Hale is still reading from the papers sitting in the podium when Stiles takes the first step in the stage, steady hand holding the gun raised and pointing at him. Derek looks up startled. He trails off, incredibly bright eyes widening as he parts his lips. Stiles keeps moving forward, step after step, never stopping the aim he has at him. But then Derek calls him by his name. Only, that’s not Stiles’ name, is it? And before he can react, Stiles is being flooded by memories. Quick images running wild in his mind that Stiles can’t make a sense of. All he is able to recognize is Derek Hale, in each and every one of them.

Confused, Stiles starts to lower his gun to ask for an explanation. But before he can get out the words, something sharp and quick hits him on the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.

 

xx

 

Stiles awakes with a startle. Breathing fast, he bolts up from the hard surface on which he was laying. He looks around, discovering he’s in a thin, clean cell. The walls are white and luminous except for one that fades into glass when Stiles moves. On the other side, a man is calmly looking at him.

“You’re finally awake,” Derek Hale says, tiny smile curling his lips as he gestures for his guards to leave, hiding his expression from them.

Something in Stiles’ chest clenches. The sight is very... breathtaking, Stiles is willing to admit. Derek’s tanned skin in contrast with his bright hazel eyes don’t go unnoticed, either. Or his wide, powerful build. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit, the collar of the shirt underneath open a few too many buttons, exposing a smooth and corded chest.

"Stiles,” the man says after a while of Stiles just looking at him. 

"No, wait.” Stiles shakes his head, finally reacting. “You called me something else."

"I did.” Derek steps closer. “And you let me live."

"Well.” Stiles grins. “Give me my gun back and we’ll try again."

"Maybe later." Derek tilts his head to the side, like he was fascinated with the view.

Stiles snorts. Does this count as flirting? He isn’t sure, but he knows he’s enjoying it a bit too much - given that he was sent to kill the guy.

"You recognized me, didn't you?" Derek surprises him by asking.

"No." Stiles frowns. What’s he talking about?

"Do you even know who you are?" Derek steps back, leaning against the wall behind him.

What’s with this dude and his cryptic questions? 

"Of course I know. I’m the one sent to kill you,” Stiles says sarcastically, lifting an eyebrow. 

"And that's why you're in a cell,” Derek throws back, smirking. “But we're both still alive for a reason...” Derek trails off, stepping off the wall. There is something in the way he moves, that makes Stiles feel nostalgic for reasons he can’t put his finger on.

“I don't know what this is,” Derek interrupts his thoughts. “But it's good to see you."

He smiles for the first time, holding Stiles’ gaze before disappearing around the corner, leaving Stiles breathless and alone. Rooted to the spot, Stiles blinks in confusion, feeling the sudden heat in his face. 

_What the fuck?_ What was that? What? “ _What?_ ” Stiles snaps, pacing frantically in circles around his tiny cell, too worked up to sit and think calmly. He didn’t want Derek to leave, how crazy is that?

Pulling himself together, Stiles takes a calming breath and looks inside his belt. Of course they must have taken all his weapons, but he decides to check anyway. His eyes widen infinitesimally once Stiles sees that they forgot something - which is weird. These guys never miss a thing, it’s just not how they work. Especially not a blast disc such as the one still on Stiles’ belt.

Frowning, Stiles slides his fingers inside the small pocket and feels something else next to the disc. Cautiously, he pulls it out to discover a small pill, just like the ones carrying messages. On instinct, Stiles puts it back inside and zips it up. He licks his lips nervously, his brain spinning with a million different ideas. Was it Derek? No, Stiles can’t afford thinking like that right now.

He slides the flat circle of the bomb through the air vent and when he hears the faint clink of it hitting the floor in the other side, Stiles whistles and moves back against the opposite wall. A second later, the wall in front of him explodes, debris flying everywhere as Stiles darts forward, escaping his cell and climbing into the air ducts. Checking the map on his arm, Stiles starts to move unnoticed - until the alarms blast through the place.

His first encounter with guards is a bit sloppy. He’s not proud of that, he’s usually better at disarming and incapacitating people. He blames Derek Hale and how his hands are still shaking after their meeting. But after he finally takes them down, things go smoothly. More guards try to stop him, but even disarmed, Stiles is still more lethal than any of them. He’s got a one track mind, which helps him to stay focused and deal with them quickly and efficiently. Stiles uses his thighs to choke one of the men and then an elbow straight to the other guard’s face, knocking them down. He needs to find some place quiet and secure to decide what to do with the pill.

Who is he kidding? Stiles is so going to swallow that pill. 

The innuendo makes Stiles chuckle as he hits someone in the gut so hard, the guy doubles over and falls to the ground. When he’s fairly sure no one else is following him, Stiles hides in a dark corridor and swallows the pill, no hesitation or second thoughts. There goes his plan to contact the Monicans and ask before acting. Oops.

 

xx

 

He’s back at the Forum where he first saw Derek. He’s alone this time, sitting in a seat. The big screen on the stage turns on then and what Stiles sees is enough to make him hold his breath, unable to look away. He’s seeing himself, different hair style, different clothes, unfamiliar street. He’s hitching his glasses up his nose as Derek tugs Stiles’ wool hat further down. Derek says something that makes him laugh and Stiles leans unconsciously forward in his seat, wanting to hear it. Meanwhile on the screen, he curls his arms around Derek’s neck, leaning closer to kiss him. They are saying goodbye, Stiles realizes. He murmurs in the emptiness of the Forum a “see you later babe” in time with his self on the screen, not even questioning it.

Stiles can feel the wetness in his cheeks from afar, but he’s no longer in the Forum to wipe them away. He’s with Derek, walking backwards as Stiles keeps looking at him, waving and smiling foolishly. Stiles _remembers_ he didn’t want to go, he wanted to go back upstairs to Derek’s apartment, spend the rest of the afternoon between Derek’s sheets. But Derek had a meeting, something about DNA tests and- yes, Derek used to be a scientist, he... Stiles gasps at the contact of two warm hands circling him from behind back in the Forum.

“If I had known that was the last time I’d see you in the next four hundred years,” Derek whispers next to his ear. “I’d have never let you go.”

“I had class,” Stiles says dumbfoundedly. 

Derek smirks against his neck and in that moment Stiles feels like time is suspended. The scene on the screen replays again, and as he leans back, an odd thought occurs to him. This is a memory, long lost footage retrieved from the depths of his subconscious. 

“I want to see you again,” Derek murmurs. He’s but another voice inside Stiles’ head as he replays the memory again.

“You know I’ll kill you if we see each other again,” Stiles huffs. He’s being honest. Or he’s lying. He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. It’s like having his brain split in half. He knows what he’s supposed to say, but he feels differently. Like reading the script to the wrong movie.

“You already had your chance,” Derek speaks, hands moving smoothly up Stiles’ shoulders until his fingers press against his throat. “Why did you hesitate?”

“I didn’t,” Stiles breathes out. He’s suddenly flustered. Derek’s fingers stroke his exposed neck as he throws his head back and it feels like burning darts straight to his core. 

“Liar.” Derek smirks. Stiles knows because he can feel his lips stretching over the skin behind his ear. It’s the weirdest feeling. He can clearly see that smirk, he _knows_ the way Derek smirks. He can find the memory, revive it again, but he’s never seen the man doing it before.

“What is happening to me?” Stiles’ voice breaks, lips parted, cheeks heated. He swallows soundly, feeling the lump against Derek’s fingers. God, he’s so hard. All his body clenches, throbbing with want for those fingers; the ones he knows so well from the man he had never seen until today.

“Your memories are awakening.” Derek presses a kiss to the side of his neck and Stiles gasps for air, arching his back against the seat. He wants to turn around and look at the other man, but he’s locked in place. “You’re the missing piece of the puzzle, Stiles.”

Stiles’ arms shake as he lifts them, fingers trembling as they press lightly against Derek’s. “I remember the way your fingers feel in me,” he says roughly, words breaking in staccatos as he speaks them. “But I’d never seen you before. How is that possible?”

Derek sighs, his nose nudging Stiles’ jaw line as his stubble burns his cheek. “You need to wake up,” he breathes out.

“Huh?” Stiles makes a sound close to a whimper, back arched, neck stretching as he throws his head further back, giving Derek better access. Eyes closed, he fumbles in his seat, wanting to feel Derek’s hands between his legs.

“Stiles,” Derek says more firmly. “You’re not alone anymore. _Wake up_.”

“But I-” Stiles tries to protest. He opens his eyes to see the memory paused in the moment they are walking backwards, still looking at each other.

“You know where to find me.” Derek is like a ghost, his fingers sliding back, running over his neck before disappearing. 

Stiles gasps like a fish out of water for a moment and then he’s back to the dark corridor, two guards shouting to stay where he is. Ignoring his raging boner and aching body, Stiles takes a deep breath and focuses. If Derek wants to be found, Stiles is willing to play.

 

xx

 

Following directions, Stiles arrives to a hidden fake pond. In the middle of it there is a circular, low building, connected by a narrow walkway. There are no guards or visible security, but even then Stiles is careful when he crosses over. Once there, the doors are unlocked and no one tries to stop him as Stiles enters what he suspects is Hale’s private place.

Stiles is not sure what he was expecting, but it still comes as a shock to find himself alone with Derek Hale, who, by the way, is wearing a very low V-neck shirt under his leather jacket and tailored pants. Completely unfair, Stiles thinks.

"Why am I here?" Stiles asks. He moves around the room, wary of his surroundings and the man in front of him.

"I needed to see you again,” Derek states simply, his eyes following Stiles through the room.

“We- we are not doing this,” Stiles stutters. 

“What.” Derek deadpans in a way that makes the word not sound like a question.

“You and- well, this!” Stiles throws his arms and points around him. “This, okay? You and me, it isn’t happening. I have a mission, I-” Stiles falters the moment Derek takes a step closer. He knows he’s rambling, his own words sounding absurd in the silence that follows. 

“But we already are.” Derek smirks. He advances until they are in front of each other and pushes Stiles’ gun toward him, giving him a funny look.

"I don't need that to kill you." Stiles licks his lips nervously, eyes flickering back and forth between the gun and Derek’s face.

"But it'd be easier, wouldn't it?" Derek asks reasonably, as if they weren’t discussing the ways Stiles could kill him. Stiles decides he’s had enough. He grabs the gun in a quick movement and presses the muffle against Derek’s chest. They look at each other for what feels like a long moment, both slightly panting but locked in place.

"Everything changed when I met you,” Derek says slowly. “You know me, I know you do.”

Stiles is startled by the words, by how true they ring in his ears. "Why do I know you?" he asks, hand never faltering.

"Why did you come back?” Derek asks instead of answering. “What do you want?" he takes a step closer, pressing the gun harder against the other man’s chest, and something inside Stiles snaps. He grabs Derek by the collar of his shirt, leaning closer.

"What do I want?” He asks through gritted teeth. “I want my mother back. I want to know why I _remember_ us." Derek reaches out to him in that moment, trying to pull him closer but Stiles resists, pushing away. "Why do I feel this way around you? Why does it feel like-” He falters, staggering.

There doesn’t seem to be enough air in the space between them. Stiles steps back on wobbling legs, trying to _breathe_ again, but Derek pulls him back closer. And Stiles just surrenders this time. He goes with it, moving against the hard lines of Derek’s body as they hold each other, stares locked and heavy breathing mixing. 

The time seems suspended between them. Stiles has no idea what he’s feeling, what any of this means. But the ache in the center of his chest, the lump in his throat; everything is overwhelming and _real_. It’s too much. This moment feels more real than anything Stiles has ever experienced before. And that’s a scary thought to have when the other person represents all that you wanted to destroy.

“Shit,” Stiles curses. He gets a tight hold on Derek’s arms before giving in. In a fast movement, he moves forward, capturing Derek’s lips and kissing him. Derek groans and his arms embrace him instantly. They pant into each other’s mouths in a frantic kiss that makes Stiles light headed. 

Overwhelmed, Stiles pulls back and punches Derek in the face, once and hard enough to make the man stage backwards. But Stiles doesn’t let go. He grabs Derek’s face with his hands, fingers like claws digging harder than necessary, and holds him in place. “I want answers.”

“You are the answer,” Derek whispers. There is blood on his bottom lip that he licks slowly, knowing Stiles will track the movement. And fuck his life because he does. He follows that tongue and leans closer, wanting- not knowing what he wants, just knowing that he _does_.

“I will kill you,” Stiles threatens as his fingers move over Derek’s cheeks, no longer clawing, just softly caressing. He cups Derek’s face and looks at him in the eye, studying the stranger, knowing the sounds he makes when he comes, how he feels like underneath him, splayed out and wanting Stiles as much as he wants him.

“I’m right here,” Derek rasps out, lifting his head back and exposing his neck, like it was okay for Stiles to slit it in open or something. And he could, he’s got a small knife in the sole of his boot. It’d only take a second to get a hold of it, Derek wouldn’t even know what happened before he died.

Instead, Stiles fists Derek’s hair, yanking his head impossibly back and launching forward to press his face against Derek’s neck. He breathes in the scent he remembers so well, and a shudder runs down his spine when he parts his lips and the tip of his tongue takes a first taste.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek curses, trembling slightly. Maybe it’s because of the restraining position Stiles has him in, or because Stiles pressed his teeth against his pulse. The Monican doesn’t care, he’s too occupied marking the tender skin in Derek’s neck. “I’ve thought about you,” Derek murmurs, voice husky and Stiles has had enough. The mission can wait, he can always kill the man afterwards. 

Stiles steps closer, flushing their bodies together and groaning at the sensation, thinking this is it, I’m allowing this to happen, when Derek grows tense and shoves him away.

“The fuck?” Stiles protests.

“Hide,” Derek orders, voice strong and firm. He gestures over, turning around and giving Stiles his back, like he is sure Stiles won’t harm him. And alright, maybe they have just gotten a little close and personal, but that doesn’t mean Stiles is no longer a menace. He feels kind of insulted.

Derek presses his fingers over a white surface, entering a code to make the panel move away, revealing some stairs that lead to a secret basement. Stiles goes down slowly, taking in his surroundings. He turns around, realizing Derek is still upstairs and tries to make a protest before the other man interrupts him. “You’ll be safe there,” Derek says, closing the panel straight in his face. Rude much?

 

xx

 

He’s still on top of the stairs, face only inches away from the hidden, closed door, when a female voice comes from the other end. “Sir,” the woman salutes drily. Probably from Derek’s personal security guards. Stiles can’t hear the rest but then he hears Derek speaking. “Erica, I told you I didn’t want anyone disturbing me tonight.”

At his words, Stiles flushes and descends all the way down to what looks like a big, bright room. The place looks like a laboratory, full of trays, microscopes and other objects Stiles can’t describe. He finds a bunch of papers and sits on a stool, reading through them methodically, like his father had taught him. It’s seems to be the documentation of some sort of experiment. There is a list of patients and some numbers next to each of them, but Stiles can’t decipher the meaning.

He’s no sure how long he has to wait, but by the halfy he’s still sporting, he supposes it couldn’t be that long when he hears steps moving down toward him. 

“What is this place?” he asks without turning around.

“My private laboratory,” Derek speaks as he moves over to the isle in the middle of the room. “This is where I work to find a solution.”

“A solution to what?” Stiles can’t help but ask.

“To this situation.” Derek gestures around them. “To our society.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles whips his head up from the trays he was looking at, staring at Derek in surprise.

“You’ve been wondering, haven’t you?” Derek asks. “Why we all have those dreams, those vivid memories of things we haven’t experienced. That’s why the Monicans resist joining the regime, isn’t it? They don’t know it’s inevitable, that once they die, they become part of it again.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles licks his lips nervously, running his fingers over his gun reassuringly.

“Four hundred years ago, I found a cure to the virus,” Derek explains, making Stiles arch an eyebrow. 

“ _You_ found the cure?” Stiles asks sarcastically. “Are you trying to tell me you’re four hundred years old? Damn, you look great for your age, man.” Stiles snorts. “Is this your idea of a joke? Because it sucks.”

“We didn’t know the secondary effect would be infertility,” Derek explains, ignoring him. “There hasn’t been a newborn since the plague.” Derek circles the table, approaching Stiles. “We’ve been cloning the same people since then. I know because I’ve taught myself, each generation I teach my new clone until the time for me to pass away arrives.”

“Oh I get it.” Stiles widens his eyes. “You’re insane. That explains a lot.” He shrugs, eyebrows rising to accent the joke before getting serious. “You really think I’ll believe that?” he spats, sick of games.

“Why would I lie to you?” Derek asks in a reasonable tone, the bastard. “This laboratory is where I work to find a solution. I thought I had accomplished it a couple months ago, but then all the women from the experiment 7B died and-”

“Hold on.” Stiles gestures with his hands. “What women? My best friend’s wife, they had been trying for a long time...”

“A couple can only conceive when someone else dies,” Derek interrupts to explain.

Stiles looks at him perturbed. This is all really fucked up. “Like I was saying, they had been trying for a long time,” Stiles says with a pointed look. “And she died a few months after knowing she was pregnant. My friend was devastated. Still is.”

“She was born somewhere else in the city.” Derek shrugs.

“So your experiment killed her? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I thought so, but not anymore.” Derek steps closer. “I suspect my uncle. Over the centuries, and as I taught myself all I knew, I realized Peter had to have been involved in the plague. We worked together at our family’s company and he wanted my mother’s position,” Derek explains. “But once she passed away, her will stated it all had to be transferred to me. Back then I was naive, young. I was in love...” he trails off, smiling in a fond and familiar way that makes Stiles _ache_. 

“I didn’t see it...” Derek speaks softly, hand tentatively raising to touch Stiles. “He said you had died, that your DNA was damaged from the virus. I trusted him, he was my only family.” His fingers run up Stiles’ arm in a light caress, giving Stiles goose bumps. “But over the years, and as I got to meet his younger selves while he taught them, I realized there was something seriously wrong with Peter. Fundamentally, he was a dark and twisted man, with radical ideas of what had to be done for the greater good.”

“You think Chairman Peter Hale killed my friend’s wife because she was pregnant?” Stiles asks, torn between wanting to know more and wanting to ignore all this until it goes away now that he’s realized Derek is in fact not joking. 

“I think he wanted to stop my experiment. And when those women became pregnant, I think he decided to get me killed,” Derek says, surprising him. “He sent you, I’m sure of it. I never thought he’d contact the Monicans to finish me off, but he was the only one who knew I’d be at the Forum. Unarmed. Alone. I made sure of it. It was of course a trap, and he fell for it.” Derek shakes his head, looking suddenly sad. 

“Then when I saw you... I knew why.” Derek looks at him so intensely, Stiles’ breath catches in his throat. “He was lying all this time. He knew I’d never stop looking for a way to perfect our DNA cloning, until I could find a way to bring you back. It was crazy, clearly impossible, but nothing could have ever stopped me from trying to be with you again. Not even death. And he knew that.”

“But why would he want you to do that?” Stiles asks breathlessly.

“He wants to live forever,” Derek deadpans, as if it was obvious.

“And what do you want?” Stiles asks tentatively, choosing to ignore psychopath Uncle Peter for now.

“You.” Derek doesn’t hesitate. His voice sounds clear and sure when he says the single word.

 

xx

 

Something in the very marrow of Stiles’ bones shakes with the sudden realization that this is it. This man was his and Stiles was this man’s a long time ago. And somehow, impossible yet true, they remember. 

In reply, Stiles doesn’t hesitate either when he moves forward and captures his lips. They kiss frantically, embracing each other and leaning against the island. Stiles unzips Derek’s leather jacket, pulling it off roughly, throwing some trays and papers off the table in the process. But Derek doesn’t seem to mind if the way he’s trying to unzip Stiles’ lycra suit is of any indication. 

Stiles removes his hands from Derek long enough to unclasp his holster, letting it drop to the floor unceremoniously, and then turns around, pressing his ass against Derek’s groin.

“Unzip it,” he murmurs roughly.

Derek hums in appreciation, his hands warm and firm against the nape of Stiles’ neck a moment later. He pulls the zipper all the way down to Stiles’ lower back, fingers sliding under the fabric and pushing it off his shoulders. Stiles arches his back, pressing harder against Derek before he turns around again, pulling the suit off his arms himself and exposing his chest. 

“Your shirt. Off,” Stiles commands as he pulls the lycra down his hips, until the top of his thighs are exposed. 

Derek doesn’t seem to want to follow orders, though. He’s running his hands over Stiles’ exposed skin, fingers digging a little harder on his pecs. Stiles grunts in approval when Derek scratches a path down his abdomen with blunt nails, making him shiver. He doesn’t stop moving down, sliding his hands down Stiles’ hips to his thighs, where he squeezes again, nails leaving faint lines as he pushes his hands under the lycra and keeps pulling it down. 

Stiles huffs an amused laugh, apparently the man wants him completely naked. He supposes it’s a bad idea, definitely not practical if he has to flee without notice, but he lifts his right leg and then his left anyway, allowing Derek to take the suit all the way off him.

“I was wondering what you’d be wearing underneath,” Derek teases, cheeky smirk flashing for a moment before he moves forward, sucking a hickey on Stiles’ collarbone.

“Not much,” Stiles breathes out, arching his back and pressing against Derek, encouraging him to keep going.

“I can tell.” Derek slides his hands around Stiles’ back and moves them down until he finds Stiles’ cheeks, squeezing the bare skin before he grabs the thong and pulls the line of fabric up, creating pressure between Stiles’ legs.

“You’re overdressed,” Stiles moans, cursing softly as he starts unbuttoning Derek’s shirt. At the first flash of naked skin, Stiles’ heart skips a beat. He remembers Derek’s broad chest. He remembers playing with his chest hair, the weird shape it forms, and how much he liked teasing the man about it. 

“You used to make fun of it,” Derek murmurs, slightly breathless, clearly remembering the same thing Stiles is thinking of.

“Because it has a funny shape.” Stiles smirks, outlining it with his fingertips. 

"Undress me," Derek asks, voice firm and rough. And Stiles takes him up on it. He finishes unbuttoning Derek’s shirt and takes it off, pulling a bit too hard when the cuffs get stuck around Derek's wrists for a moment.

Unapologetic about his nakedness, Stiles steps back, eyes half hooded as he tilts his head down and looks through his eyelashes at Derek. His hands start working on the belt around his waist and Derek leans back on the island. Hands gripping the edge, he tilts his hips forward, encouraging Stiles to keep going as he unzips Derek’s pants and pulls them down.

At the realization that Derek is going commando, Stiles arches a sardonic eyebrow and huffs a soft laugh. "You never liked wearing underwear."

"You used to say I was a naturalist." Derek grins, stepping out of the pants, both completely naked now.

"Because you were," Stiles protests. "Remember that nudist beach you took me to the first summer we were going out."

"I thought you liked that," Derek says as he grabs Stiles' hips, dragging him closer until they are flushed together. 

Stiles gasps at the contact, arms circling Derek’s neck as he leans closer. They kiss and it’s slow and lazy this time, exploring each other’s mouths, remembering the sensation and discovering it for the first time at the same time.

Derek grips his hips harder, making Stiles rut against him in a slow and strong pull. “I want you in my bed,” he whispers right against Stiles’ lips, making him falter and curse under his breath.

“ _Fuck_ , you can’t just say something like that and expect me not to...” Stiles trails off, leaning his forehead against Derek’s as he rolls his hips maddeningly slow. “What are you doing to me?”

“Do I have to draw you a picture?” Derek deadpans, ironic eyebrow arched up and fingers splayed up over Stiles’ naked hips.

“No, genius.” Stiles rolls his eyes, speaking through his heavy breathing. “I mean, I’m supposed to eliminate you, not bang you.”

“Maybe later,” Derek murmurs, thrusting sharply and hard against him.

“Holy _shit_! Do that again.” Stiles tightens his hold on Derek’s biceps as he meets his thrusts midway, very much okay with the distraction.

“You have such a filthy mouth,” Derek rasps against his throat.

“You have filthy everything, dude,” Stiles breathes out, rushed and low as he arches his back and pushes back against Derek’s hold. Stepping back and grabbing Derek’s wrist, he pulls him off the table. “Show me your crib.”

Derek rolls his eyes, huffing softly, but he moves toward the stairs while Stiles bends over to grab his holster and clothes before catching up and taking the hand he offers. 

 

xx

 

They move upstairs, naked and still hard as they walk through the empty house until they enter a room in shadows. The only illumination is the natural light coming through the drapes in the big windows. Stiles can see through them, outside to the thick garden. Everything looks peaceful and serene and the memory of a similar garden many years old hits him.

Derek circles his shoulder, naked chest pressing against Stiles’ back as they settle together. “It always made me think of you.”

Stiles sighs, feeling secured and rooted in a way he never knew he could. He leans his head back, resting it in Derek’s shoulder, tilting his face until his mouth finds the other man’s jaw. The prickle of Derek’s stubble against his lips is a feeling that sends him back to a time when he and Derek used to stay in bed until noon on Sundays. 

Turning around in Derek’s arms, they kiss unhurriedly. Stiles doesn’t know when he made the conscious decision. Maybe it was when they kissed for the first time, or when he saw Derek at the Forum. Maybe he always knew but just didn’t remember. It doesn’t matter. But at some point today, his mission changed. More important than killing the government’s Chairman, it is to discover the whole truth behind the cloning. And it looks like Derek is the only person that can help him to do this. 

Stiles remembers the way Derek used to give himself to work four hundred years ago, when life was completely different from now but somehow still exactly the same. No matter how confused he still is, there is something Stiles _knows_. He can trust Derek. If someone can find a cure, that’s him.

“Where do you keep the samples of everyone to clone?” Stiles dares to ask. Because he needs to know, because he’s still a Monican on a mission. Even though the mission changed.

Derek pulls back, visible startled. “I can’t- Stiles, I’m not sure my cure is working.” He frowns in a familiar way that makes Stiles smile fondly without noticing. 

“It does,” Stiles reassures him. “It will. I believe in you.”

Derek drops his arms at those words, looking at Stiles in a way that Stiles can’t read. And then he crushes his lips against Stiles’ in a hungry and desperate way their other kisses lacked. “I’ll take you,” Derek murmurs against his mouth. “It’s in plain sight, so obvious no one would bother to look there. We’ll go together.”

Something inside Stiles’ mind clicks at the words, but he decides to kiss Derek instead of saying it. Moving backwards, Derek drags him to the edge of his bed where he sits, hands never letting go of Stiles’ hips as Derek looks up at him. Expecting. Waiting. With yearning written all over his face.

Stiles crawls into his lap, straddling Derek’s thighs as they kiss again. His hands run up Derek’s neck to bury in thick, soft hair. Curling his fingers, Stiles pulls Derek’s head back, exposing his throat and licking a path from the hollow of his collarbone to his chin. “Touch me,” he murmurs, his lips rubbing against Derek’s stubble. Stiles’ insides clench with need, his whole body aching, his skin prickling and oversensitive.

Derek runs his hands down Stiles’ back, strong and warm fingers finding his ass and grabbing his cheeks in a strong hold, making Stiles rut in his lap. Pre-come and sweat are making it feel so slick, so perfect; his toes curl at the same time Derek slides a finger between his cheeks, finding the rim of tight muscles and pressing against it without breaking in.

“Fuck,” Stiles curses, head thrown back as he arches his back greedily, wanting more. “We need... lube, or something. We need- something.”

Derek chuckles against his throat. He clenches his hands to get a better hold of Stiles’ hips and then turns in a quick motion, dropping Stiles down before reaching to press a few times on the nearby wall to make a compartiment pop up. It’s been four hundred years but lube is still lube, Stiles thinks as he observes Derek position himself between his spread legs. Coating his fingers, Derek lays on his stomach, levering himself on his elbow as he leans over Stiles’ erection. 

“The view from here is fucking breath _-hng-_ taking,” Stiles’ voice breaks in a moan, hips tilting up and pushing against the pressure Derek’s lubed finger is creating against his entrance. 

“This used to be my favorite part,” Derek speaks right against the curve of his cock, breath ghosting over sensitive skin and lips brushing against a pulsing vein. “Getting you ready, feeling you tight around my fingers, stretching you open for me.”

“If you keep talking, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast,” Stiles pants, hilts of his hands pressed against his eyes in an attempt to not see what Derek is doing, to last just a little bit longer.

“Maybe you should keep me busy with something instead,” Derek suggests, playful half smile and daring arched eyebrow at play when Stiles peeks.

And Stiles remembers. The way they always managed to make sex into something fun, something good. Stiles remembers laughing to the point of crying, Derek still inside of him, trying not to laugh too and failing because of something one of them had said. Stiles remembers the way Derek used to crawl on his hands and knees over Stiles, eager and still damp, whispering, “I couldn’t wait for you to wake up, so I got myself ready in the shower,” before angling Stiles’ cock to sit on it. They dirty talked and joked and were unapologetic about being naked all weekend. They liked to do it on the kitchen island, on top of the carpet Derek’s mom bought them for the living room. Stiles remembers they had to buy a lovely armchair to hide the spot they left on it one particularly long evening. And how they had done it in said lovely armchair later, too. 

Groaning, Stiles fists Derek’s hair, holding his cock in place and guiding Derek down on it. And Derek engulfs him eagerly, moaning around the shaft as his finger finally goes smoothly in Stiles’ rim. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles moans. “You were always so good. _So._ ” He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust. “ _Fucking. Good._ ”

His fingers never lose his hold on Derek’s hair, but it doesn’t seem to matter because Derek is earnestly gagging himself on Stiles’ cock, spit making a mess in Stiles’ lap as he bobs his head just the way Stiles loves. After the third finger, Stiles is too far gone to hold onto him anymore. He’s only ready for one thing.

“You gonna swallow?” Stiles asks breathlessly, pupils blow up and thighs quivering. “God, I’m so close. Derek, I’m-” Stiles can’t finish the line. His head falls back and his legs give in, falling wide open. 

Thrusting against Derek’s fingers, Stiles arches his back and comes down his throat. His whole body clenches, sending shivers and heat all over, making his toes curl and his hands fist the sheets. His hips spasm uncontrollably, insides pulsing and quivering in an unbearably good way. For a second, it’s almost too much. It feels too real, like he’s going to burst open, like this is too good for his body to take it. Just the right amount of too good, though. Always the right amount.

 

xx

 

Breathless and well spent, Stiles goes boneless against the mattress. A satisfied smile curls on his face as he looks down at Derek, who is still busy licking him clean. After a bit, Stiles whimpers slightly, skin too flushed and sensitive under Derek’s ministrations.

“The memory of your taste is nothing compared to it,” Derek breathes out against the inner side of Stiles’ thigh, wet lips brushing the sensitive skin before he bites down. It makes Stiles buck in surprise, realizing Derek is still fingering him.

“Don’t stop,” Stiles asks, thrusting down on Derek’s fingers.

“No.” Derek shakes his head, smirking as he hovers over Stiles, wicked fingers still moving maddening slowly. The kiss they share is slow and deep, lazy tongues tangling together. Stiles can taste himself in the kiss and something inside him seems to shatter with the flow of memories that come crashing down on him. 

He remembers the first time they kissed, rough and hard, both pulling apart with equally horrified expressions, going at it again a moment later anyway. The way it was awkward and stilted for weeks afterwards before the blue balls gave Stiles enough courage to try it again. And after that, how they were unable to stop. Stiles remembers the first time he saw Derek’s dick, flushed and hard, pressed between them as they rubbed one off, afraid a co-worker would find them but unable to stop anyway. The first time Derek asked him to meet outside work. The first time they held hands, how nervous Stiles had felt, palm itching and sweaty, until Derek squeezed once and gave him a reassuring nod. 

Circling Derek’s waist with his legs, Stiles holds onto him tightly, eyes squeezed shut, heat sitting heavy in his gut. Derek moves his fingers away long enough to align himself and push slowly inside, both holding their breath as he rolls his hips in a short, controlled thrust, burying himself to the hilt. 

“ _Ohmygod_ ,” Stiles breathes out in a long gasp, words coming out together as he clenches involuntarily around Derek.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek seems to warn with his tone, corded arms and neck clenched with the effort of holding still. And Stiles realizes Derek must be as affected as he is.

"Fuck me," he demands in something close to a whine, hips buckling impatiently.

"Patience was never your strong point." Derek lets out in an amused huff, still holding in place.

"Damn right." Stiles grabs Derek's ass and pulls him forward, creating the friction between them. The burn of the stretch around Derek's cock is exhilarating. Stiles realizes he's hard again, leaking between them. The last straw of control seems to snap out of Derek then, because he sits on the balls of his feet, dragging Stiles down on his lap before his hips starts pistoling in a brutal pace that makes Stiles cry out.

"Yes," he groans. "Right there. Right- oh my god, _yes_ , there. Don’t stop!" Stiles' eyes roll back in his sockets at the feeling of Derek rutting against his prostate over and over again. It's so intense, Stiles is afraid he's going to break. He's never felt anything quite like this. He remembers the feeling, tho. His body twists and spasms out of control as his mind remembers what it used to feel like, Derek fucking him to oblivion. How shattered and spent and just fucking blissed out Derek could make him feel. Only him.

"Only you," Stiles moans before coming again, this time untouched.

He clenches around Derek, feeling the man shivering and pausing a moment, like he was enjoying the sensation of Stiles tightening around him before he lays Stiles back on the bed and starts thrusting frantically. Derek’s head is bent down, shoulders trembling as he leans on the mattress, moving so hard and fast, all Stiles can do is hold onto him and take it.

When Derek comes, the memories blind Stiles. He sees Derek on his hands and knees, sees him buried deep in Stiles, he sees him coming in Stiles’ hand, in his mouth. Stiles has made Derek come more times than he can count. And yet not enough, not even close.

After a suspended moment, Derek lets out a sigh and collapses on top of him, Stiles circling his back and securing him against his body; refusing to ever let go again. They pant together for a long time, coming down slowly and catching their breath in silence.

Derek rolls off of him, making Stiles whine in protest at the loss. “I want to clean you up,” he says as he drags Stiles to the shower, and he is suddenly very interested in this plan. Derek takes his time in cleaning him up, hands gentle and thorough. He massages Stiles' tight knots into smooth, relaxed muscles under the warm stream of water until Stiles is a compliant, boneless mass leaning on Derek.

"Remember that trip to Mexico," Derek whispers on the nape of his neck as Stiles leans against him, back pressed to Derek's wet chest.

"Margaritas and beach sex, how could I forget?" Stiles snorts. They had spent the time in their little villa eating, drinking and fucking. It had been the closest to a honeymoon they’d had.

They kiss for a while after that, until the water runs cold. Still damp, they move back to bed, where Derek spoons Stiles in a protective way that makes something in Stiles' chest clench. How can your life change so drastically in less than twenty four hours? He was sent to kill Derek Hale and instead Stiles fell in love with him. _Again_ , apparently.

"Derek...” Stiles whispers. “The name you called me. That was my name, wasn’t it?"

Derek seems to stir at his words, tightening his hold around Stiles’ shoulders and burrowing his face against Stiles’ hair. "You were my husband,” he says, hand seeking Stiles’. “We had a life together."

"Tell me," Stiles whispers, fingers interlinking with Derek’s.

"I lost you during the disease,” Derek says, chin leaning over the top of Stiles’ head, tucking him securely against the hollow of his neck. “We couldn't bring you back. I-” Derek pauses, his hold tightening around Stiles. “I've lived and died seven times since then and each time I've taught myself about you. You were an idea I kept alive, something I had to imagine. But when I saw you, what I felt was real.”

Derek moves, cupping Stiles’ face and making him turn to look at him. “I knew you, I remembered you. What we had then survived in us.” Derek rubs their noses together. “Past death, past everything."

"I was looking for you...” Stiles says in wonder, finally understanding.

"I've been waiting,” Derek whispers, smiling softly.

As their lips meet again, the sun of the early morning shines through the drapes, bathing them in golden light as they find rest in each other’s arms.

 

xx

 

When Stiles wakes up, though, the sun is high in the sky and Derek is sound asleep next to him. Slowly, he moves away to look at him and Derek makes a small noise of protest before burrowing his face in the pillow. Stiles can’t help but smile at the gesture, fingertips ghosting over Derek’s furrowed frown. 

He knows he needs to leave. The time is now, before Derek wakes up. Stiles needs to get to the bottom of all this and he needs to keep Derek safe, and for that he can’t let him get involved. It’s too dangerous, especially when the Monicans want him dead and so does his own uncle. Stiles feels suddenly very small. The two biggest forces in this city want Derek dead, how is he going to be able to stop them?

Determined, Stiles leaves the security and warmth of Derek’s bed, putting his clothes back on and clicking his holster back in place before he moves to the side of the bed. Derek is still asleep so he leans down and kisses him softly on the forehead. That’s all Stiles allows himself to have as goodbye, refusing to believe this could very well be the last time he sees Derek.

As he leaves the Hale Citadel behind, Stiles realizes he needs the Monicans in. Right now he's technically a traitor to the organization, but he still feels the same way as the day before. He wants to help defeat the regime. What the Monicans don’t know is that so does Derek Hale. And the only person willing to listen to him and with enough power to change anything is his handler, Lydia Martin.

Pressing behind his right ear, Stiles opens line with her, leaving his body behind as he appears in the white room again. Lydia is already there, face set in a cold stare.

"I know you are angry," Stiles says, showing his palms. "But I just discovered something that changes everything, Lydia. Things are much more complex than we thought. I had to improvise.”

“Improvise.” Lydia arches an eyebrow. And Stiles feels the creep of the blush up his neck, cheeks flushed at the realization that she must know. “What have you done, Stiles?” 

“We had the wrong objective the whole time.” Stiles throws his arms in the air, exasperated. “I only did my job-”

“You had one job,” Lydia interrupts him, visibly more angry than before. “And it was to terminate the life of Derek Hale.”

Time is running out. Exasperated, he makes a decision and hopes for the best. “Sorry, I know how much you love your protocols but we don’t have time for this.” Stiles jumps up the aisles until he reaches her. 

Lydia doesn’t even take a tentative step back when he jumps in front of her. Defiant and fierce, she tosses her long hair back and raises her chin. “You can’t touch me, not here. And while you’re here, _threatening me_ , we’re out there looking for you.”

“What?” Stiles asks in confusion until it sinks in. “No! Lydia, I’m not a traitor! I don’t want to hurt you. I’m here because we’re friends and I’m basically going to trust you with my life. So you better listen to me, because there’s something I need you to know.” 

Lydia frowns, only slightly, but doesn’t say anything.

“Are we alone?” Stiles asks. The moment stretches in time until finally, Lydia shakes her head almost imperceptibly. Stiles curses under his breath. “Okay, look. Remember when we were kids, and we played with Scott and Allison. Remember the place?” Another small nod. “I need you to pick up something there. It’s important, Lydia. We have to do this for Allison. For- for my mom, okay? Beacon Hills deserves to know the truth. So please, trust me? Please listen to what I have to say before sending a team to neutralize the problem."

Not waiting to see her answer, Stiles moves forward, gives her a peck in the cheek and disconnects.

He rushes through the still asleep city until he reaches the garden where they used to play in when they were kids. Making sure no one is watching, Stiles moves quickly to the bench they wrote their names on years ago, and buries a capsule underneath. It contains Stiles’ memories of the previous day, or well, what is appropriate for all ages, and what he could take photographs of at Derek’s laboratory. 

The next step in his crazy ass plan is even more risky, and Stiles knows it. He’s going to need better equipment for it, too. Bracing himself for the possible consequences, Stiles hurries back to his place. He knows the Monicans must have sent someone to keep an eye just in case he decided to come back, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

Since no one is waiting behind his door, Stiles decides to risk it and move to his secret stash. Packing all he needs in his hostler, Stiles is in and ready to get out in minutes. The problem is that someone is behind the door the moment he opens it again.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, voice high pitched in surprise.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Derek nearly growls, stepping inside and grabbing Stiles’ arm in a strong, bruising hold. “Don’t ever disappear like that again, I thought-” But Stiles doesn't let him finish. On pure instinct, he grabs Derek and shoves him face first against the wall, pressing his body against him.

"Don't move," he breathes down his neck.

"Are we fighting now?" Derek asks, sounding incredulous.

"Wouldn't be the first time." Stiles presses a knee between Derek's leg. "We used to be really good at it, too."

"I remember," Derek agrees, thrusting back against Stiles' leg and obtaining a curse under Stiles' breath. Why is everything Derek does so damn hot? "I could barely tolerate you when we first met."

"Dude," Stiles snorts. "You hated me." He did, Stiles remembers the narrowed eyes, the angry comebacks. It took them almost a year to reach something similar to camaraderie. Even longer to start talking just because they wanted to, and not because they had to.

"You were the worst lab intern I ever had," Derek comments, face flushed against the wall and ass pressed back on Stiles' leg in an encouraging way.

"You were the most infuriating, annoying asshole I ever met." Stiles smirks, running his nose along the line where Derek's neck and shoulders meet. He feels the other man shiver, and Stiles can’t help himself. He presses harder between his legs, hands lower in his hips, keeping him in place.

"You helped me open up," Derek concedes in a small voice, face still pressed against the wall even though Stiles isn’t holding him there anymore.

Stiles tightens his hold on him, overwhelmed by those words. He remembers their fights, heated and irrational. Stiles remembers when they weren't even friends, how they stepped into each other's space, faces flushed and too close as they screamed at each other. The whole thing so charged with sexual tension, Stiles sometimes found himself hard after an argument with Derek, angry and frustrated as he refused to acknowledge the unfinished business between his legs. 

“You made me happy,” Stiles says simply. Because it’s true. Overall, no matter the arguments, no matter how Derek was there for him when he needed someone, or how he helped Derek to leave the past behind - at the end of it all, Derek just made him happy. Maybe they weren’t perfect for each other. Maybe they threw food at each other in the middle of a silly argument, maybe their neighbors hated them for being loud in bed. But Stiles doesn’t care. This man made him feel whole. 

“That’s why I have to protect you,” Stiles explains, stepping back and letting Derek turn around.

“I can protect myself,” Derek says, eyebrows furrowing as he clenches his jaw. “If anything had happened to you, I wouldn’t- I don’t know how-” Derek stops talking abruptly, head cast down and eyes hidden.

Stiles feels like a first class asshole. Of course the safest place for Derek to be is next to him. Stiles will do anything to keep him alive. “Hey.” He shows his palms, approaching him again. “I’m sorry, okay? I was trying to do the right thing. I didn’t want anything to happen to you. But you’re right, I shouldn’t have left like that.”

Derek looks up at him for a long moment, clearly deciding if that’s enough or if he wants to say something else. Finally, he nods, apparently satisfied, and steps away from the wall. “What next?”

“Next?” Stiles smirks, patting his holster. “We blow things up.”

 

xx

 

The moment they step outside the back door, Stiles knows they’re not alone. Gesturing to Derek to be quiet, he grabs his guns, noticing Derek does the same behind him. And since when is he packing, anyway? Hoping the man knows how to shoot, Stiles moves forward, trained senses tracking all the muffled sounds around them. Stiles knows these are not Monicans sent to stop the traitor. No, this is clearly regimen protocol. Which only means Derek is in more trouble than he first thought.

Determined to take Derek out of this alive, Stiles aims and shoots without any kind of warning. And the moment the first guard falls in front of their feet, he grabs Derek’s wrist and darts forward. Escaping alone is usually easier, that’s why he’s ready to be dragged back by Derek, but somehow the man manages to keep up with Stiles. He even shoots at someone Stiles completely missed, probably saving his life.

“I had no idea you were trained,” Stiles shouts over the noise of all the people chasing them.

“I told you I can take care of myself!” Derek sounds almost gleeful as he moves fast and smoothly next to Stiles. And the situation should be stressful, anxiety should be clogging Stiles’ brain, but fighting next to Derek makes Stiles feel strangely at ease.

In hindsight, there was no way to know an ambush was awaiting them a few blocks away. Stiles tries to take a shortcut, but it’s to no avail. There are regimen guards everywhere, and it’s clear pretty fast that their orders are to kill, not to capture. Stiles is trying to shoot as many guards as he can when Derek grunts next to him, hand flying to his chest. Something inside Stiles’ brain clicks at the realization that he was shot. He can only hear white noise under the sudden rage as he decides he’s had enough with subtlety and starts using grenades to get rid of the assholes. 

Stiles has no idea how many guards they knock down, but once they’re done, the area looks like a war zone. He doesn’t waste time to check if there are survivors, though. Stiles guides Derek to the sewer system running along the river, and by some miracle they manage to hide inside without being tracked. All Stiles wants to do is stop and check on Derek, but the man seems to be sure in his stride, and they need to put as much distance between them and the area as possible.

They run through the corridors for a long time, until Derek starts to slow down. Stiles is next to him in an instant, supporting his weight with his body and helping Derek to keep going until they find a ventilation window. Derek collapses down in the curved wall underneath it, letting out a pained groan. 

“We need to take the bullets out,” he grits out.

Stiles is still catching his breath, registering for the first time the wound on his left arm from the bullet that grazed him. But he doesn’t even think of himself. He moves next to Derek, leaning over him and pulling the jacket away to reveal the bullet hole in his shirt, cloth soaked with blood around it. Tearing it apart, Stiles uncovers the bullet wound, ignoring when Derek hisses at the jolt of pain.

“Okay this is seriously gross,” Stiles murmurs, more to himself than anything else. He’s never been fond of blood. Yes, he’s a Monican who gets an upset stomach at the sign of gore. Sue him. “Don’t move, I need to-” Stiles doesn’t finish the sentence, instead he digs his fingers inside the wound, clenching his jaw when Derek cries out, ignoring the sickening feeling of ripped flesh around his fingers as he pulls the bullet out of Derek’s left shoulder.

Quickly, Stiles pulls a hidden patch off his shoulder blade. It looks like synthetic skin but when he places it over the bleeding wound, the material starts to dissolve and seals the wound. Instantly, Derek lets out a shaky breath, like it already felt better.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Stiles asks, making sure. Derek doesn’t reply, he just turns around, revealing another bullet wound on his left side. “Oh my god, did any of them manage to miss you?”

Stiles doesn’t wait for an answer, he pulls the other bullet out and uses a second patch to seal the wound before collapsing half on top of Derek, too exhausted to move. Derek doesn’t seem to mind, though. He circles his shoulder and cuddles him closer.

“Are _you_ hurt?” Derek asks then.

“I’m fine.” Stiles nuzzles his neck, sinking further down in the heat of Derek’s body.

“You still got more of those patches?” Derek insists.

Stiles huffs exasperatedly. He leans to the side and pulls another partch off his shoulder, offering it to Derek with a roll of his eyes.

“Thank you,” Derek says sarcastically before his hands are ripping the material away from the wound oozing blood down Stiles’ arm and using the patch to seal it.

“You’re ridiculous,” Stiles teases. He’s just not used to someone taking care of him.

“We should keep moving,” Derek says. “It’s not safe here.”

“Just five more minutes.” Stiles presses his face against Derek’s neck, breathing in his scent, somehow familiar and completely new. And Derek seems to agree, because his arms circle him again, pulling him closer.

Stiles dozes off with the strong beating of Derek’s heart drumming under him.

 

xx

 

When Stiles wakes, the light coming down the ventilation window has changed. A moment later, he registers he’s pressed against Derek’s thigh, hips rutting his hard on between them. Groaning, Stiles stirs a bit more awake, body arching against Derek, who seems to be responding to the movement. 

“Is this really happening?” Stiles slurs, half asleep, without stopping. They thrust against each other lazily, eyes still closed, hands still resting where they were before. Fuck, this is definitely happening.

“C’mere,” Derek murmurs after a moment, hands seeking Stiles’ hips and pulling him on top. Stiles straddles his thighs, body leaning over Derek’s as their noses bump together before they kiss. Derek nips his bottom lip, tongue darting in, and Stiles’ mouth opens instantly, welcoming him. The kiss deepens into a frantic, hungry battle of tongues, the sensation sending shivers down Stiles’ spine, making him feel almost dizzy.

Derek moves down to his chin, sucking and nipping his way down Stiles’ jaw before finding his neck, where he doesn’t hesitate to nurture a big hickey. Stiles moans and throws his head back, giving Derek better access. He remembers how much Derek was into this, always marking him, relishing in the bite marks he’d made for days after, like they were a reminder of what they had together.

“Grab my ass, make me move,” Stiles asks roughly, voice breaking. Derek groans, tongue lapping at the hollow between Stiles’ collarbones. His hands fly to Stiles’ ass, fingers digging in deep enough to sting before moving Stiles against his lap.

Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s chest and pulls back, using the movement to create more friction between them and be able to look down at Derek’s beautiful face as he comes undone underneath Stiles. Hands still guiding him, Stiles shoves back and forth more enthusiastically, shivering and faltering when their cocks seem to align _just_ the right way. After that, it just feels too good to do anything but keep moving. They kiss and it’s sloppy, both panting and moving frantically against each other, desperate for more.

“I want you to come for me,” Stiles pants, picking up pace, loving the strong feeling of muscles under his hands as Derek tightens under him, back arched and corded neck thrown back.

“Yes, _fuck_ , Stiles,” Derek groans. “You feel so good. I’m- I can’t-” Stiles shoves his tongue inside Derek’s open mouth, silencing him. He rams harder and faster, feeling Derek’s whole body shudders under him before Derek’s legs clench around Stiles’ waist and comes with a cry.

Stiles slows the pace but never stops, eyes fixed on Derek’s blissed out face as the man comes down from the high. “So. Beautiful.” He punctuates with a thrust for each word, feeling the heavy sensation in the his lower back, the heat in his gut.

Derek looks up at him through hooded lids and the corner of his mouth tugs up. Huffing in amusement, his hands move down Stiles’ ass, fingers seeking between his legs and offering pressure in the right place to make Stiles buckle up and lose control of his thrusts, making his movements erratic and frantic.

Stiles buries his face in Derek’s neck, whining and shaking as he comes moments later, toes curling and hips moving shallowly for several minutes. He leaves a trail of kisses up Derek’s neck to his face, where he kisses Derek’s eyes, cheeks, nose, forehead, leaving butterfly kisses on every inch of skin until Derek makes a low whine and captures his lips with his mouth. They kiss for a while, less intense and fierce than before, just their lips meeting as they catch their breath slowly.

Finally, Stiles makes a noise of protest, feeling the tug of the dry parche between his legs. He rolls off Derek, laying next to him. “Next time I’m getting naked, I don’t care where we are.” Stiles complains as he cleans himself the best he can. Fucking lycra clothes. Derek snorts next to him, doing the same.

“No objection here,” Derek teases, flashing a quick grin before getting up and offering his hand to Stiles, who takes it without hesitation.

“Let’s go.” Stiles grins back, bumping their shoulders together as they start walking.

He guides Derek through the labyrinth underground tunnel system, straight back to the Citadel. It’s obvious Derek has no idea where they are, because when Stiles finds a trap door and gets them outside, Derek stops moving instantly.

“What are we doing here?” he asks, hands fisted.

"There's still one more thing to do." Stiles keeps walking, pulling the weapon he needs for this. They are in the highest part of the Citadel, the perfect place for what Stiles has in mind. 

“I need to destroy it.” He points at the Relical as the zeppelin moves slowly over them.

"Stiles, wait!” Derek rushes after him, clutching his arm. “There's no guarantee that my cure is going to work, the cloning is all we have."

"It's not enough,” Stiles says, turning around to look at him. 

“This is not your decision to make,” Derek insists, visibly shaken.

“Our minds are unraveling, Derek,” he protests. “And every time you bring us back, it gets worse."

"If you do this,” Derek whispers, hands clasping Stiles’ shoulders. “We end." 

"We're meant to die.” Stiles rests his hands on Derek’s neck. “That's what makes anything about us matter. Living like this is torture, we're just ghosts."

"That's not how I feel,” Derek says fiercely, eyes searching Stiles’ face. “Not now."

"I have to do this,” Stiles says roughly. “This leap of faith. I need to."

"I don't want to lose you,” Derek finally admits, pressing his forehead to Stiles’. “Not again."

"You don't have to.” Stiles smiles faintly, fingers cupping Derek’s jaw. “We’ll have your cure."

Untangling himself from Derek, Stiles moves away slowly, stepping backwards to maintain eye contact as long as possible, just the same as in the first memory Stiles recovered. When he reaches the border, he nods once as farewell, turns around and aims his gun at the Relical, catching a hook to one of its sides and being swept off the ground by the natural movement of the zeppelin. 

 

xx

 

The climb is slow and painful, Stiles’ shoulders scream in protest at the stretch and burn of the rope, muscles taut in tension as he reaches the entrance of the Relical. Inside, the whole space is a big white room, padded step after padded step, showing bright wires and capsules containing what Stiles imagines are the samples of everyone living in Beacon Hills.

A noise to his left alerts Stiles of the presence of someone else, then. 

"Mr Stilinski," the stranger says, moving to reveal himself. "It's good to see you again."

"Do I know you?" Stiles asks cautiously, hand resting over his gun.

“My name is Deaton,” the man says. "I wasn't expecting you so soon but it's true events have been moving faster than predicted."

Stiles pulls out his gun and steps closer. "I’ve had my share of cryptic bullshit for this lifetime, you better explain yourself before I get creative."

"There's no need for threats." The man shows his hands. He seems as calm as before, which only makes Stiles more nervous. "I was expecting you."

"Why?" Stiles demands.

"Because I cloned you against direct orders." The man steps closer. 

"Who gave you that order?"

"Four hundred years ago," the man explains. "I knew you then. I knew you were important. I knew that I needed to protect you. Once you died, I wanted to preserve your DNA for the cloning but the Chairman’s uncle told me you had to be classified as disposable."

"Wait, so he really tried to keep me dead?" Stiles asks, still not believing those words left his mouth.

"I knew the man was dangerous, so I didn't tell anyone. I kept your sample hidden here, dormant.” Deaton points around him. “I’ve waited until now to bring you back."

Stiles supposes he should be grateful but all he feels is anger at the idea of this stranger keeping him in a tray for centuries. That doesn’t sound very nice. Granted, Deaton doesn’t look nice. He looks mysterious as hell.

"Why now?" he asks, eyes narrowed. He wants to tell the man where he can shove the tray that held Stiles’ DNA all these years, but he supposes the smart thing to do is collect information before doing anything drastic.

"I knew that your strength would survive with you,” the man explains. "I thought that if I brought you back, you'd reach Derek. You always could."

"You know what? I don’t care. I have to end it,” Stiles says, not as a threat but just exposing the facts.

"You came here with a plan." The man nods.

Stiles narrows his eyes. "You won't try to stop me?"

"I'm ready," Deaton says. "I've waited four hundred years for this day. I'm tired. This is the beginning of a new era, Stiles. The new world is going to need people like you and Derek. _He_ is going to need you."

Stiles understands immediately. He does not only have to kill the samples, but the only person who can work them. He nods solemnly as only promise before moving around the room, leaving flat disks in every corner. He looks back at Deaton only once before leaving. The man waves him goodbye and something inside Stiles hardness at the realization of what he’s doing.

The falling is easier but also more painful. Stiles jumps off the zeppelin before the explosives start going off inside and uses an extra in his suit to glide down, hitting the ground hard enough to make his bones rattle. Out of breath for several long minutes, Stiles’ lungs start to work again the moment the explosions start blasting in the sky. Moving away as quickly as his numb body allows it, Stiles soon realizes he’s still inside the Citadel. In fact, he can see where he left Derek from here.

Moving slower than he’d like to, Stiles runs to him. Midway, Derek seems to see him and starts running, too. The moment they meet, a sudden explosion makes them dart their eyes to the sky, where a ball of fire is descending fast and hard, destroying everything in its way.

“Derek!” Someone shouts behind them. Turning around, Stiles draws out his gun, already pointed at the man, but he soon realizes it’s useless. Around them, a line of guards has appeared and is surrounding them.

"It's over, Derek.” The man steps closer, confident and calm. 

“Peter,” Derek murmurs. “I knew it was you.”

"This is treason, nephew.” Peter approaches them, group of guards behind him. “You chose that Monican.” He points at Stiles. “Knowing what it'd mean. Knowing what he’d do. Look at the Relical, he destroyed it and you allowed it! You've been moving away from me for a long time. I never thought it'd come to this, but we have to face the truth.”

Derek rights himself up, moving slightly away from Stiles. “And what is that?”

“You must be removed." Peter shows his hands.

"And you're next in line, isn't that right?" Stiles asks, unable to stop himself.

“I won’t engage with terrorists,” Peter says, not even looking at Stiles. “Derek, you’re forcing my hand here. You're a criminal. And it goes so much deeper than your cure,” he explains calmly. “Other women have been getting pregnant naturally. Outside of your experiment, more and more of them. I guess you could say they healed themselves."

"And you killed them, too?" Derek asks, looking horrified.

"I had to stop it." Peter shrugs.

"How many?" Derek asks.

"It doesn't matter,” Peter dismisses. “Nature has finally found a way. But Nature is the one who is obsolete, not us. How can you not understand the beauty of what you made? I do, I can see-"

"You told me he was gone,” Derek says, interrupting him. He points at Stiles, who is observing the exchange, unsure of what to do next. They are surrounded by guards, who believe Derek is a traitor because of Stiles. Fuck, he created a bigger mess without even trying.

"I ordered his DNA destroyed, yes.” Peter nods, unaffected. “You were a different man with him, Derek. He'd have stopped you from doing what needed to be done. Like he's stopping you now."

"No." Derek shakes his head. Stiles has never seen him look so repulsed, so... betrayed.

"Yes!” Peter finally snaps. “This world? _Our world_ , is beautiful. We have to preserve it at any cost. You destroyed the DNA samples but we can collect more, we can start all over."

"It can't last, it's falling apart,” Derek tries to reason against all reason. “You're wrong in this, Peter.”

"We've beaten death, nature...” Peter lists, eyes gone glassy as a perturbed expression twists his features. “And now I need to get to be free of you. For the greater good."

Stiles tenses. He’s been holding back from pointing his gun at the man. He’s utterly disgusted, but something in the way Derek is looking at his only relative alive is stopping him somehow.

"I'm sorry, Peter." Derek looks defeated. Stiles doesn’t understand why he apologizes but something in Peter’s face softens at the words. Stiles sees, maybe for the first time, a glimpse of humanity in him.

"So am I,” Peter finally admits.

The next thing any of them know, a shot breaks the silence and a bullet goes through Peter's heart, inanimate body dropping like a stone to the ground. Derek makes a strangled noise and rushes to him, dropping on his knees next to him, hands reaching out without touching the man.

Stiles is speechless. He looks up in time to see Lydia lowering her riffle. Suddenly the circle of guards seem to notice the group of Monicans and all Stiles wants to do is to take Derek away from there. The place is packed with Regimen guards and Monicans fighters, it’s only a matter of seconds before this turns into a battlefield. 

Stiles goes to Derek, grabbing him, pulling him back on his feet, urging him to move. “We have to go, come on Derek, come on!” 

But when Derek finally looks away from his dead uncle, he seems to register the fight about to break around them and stands his ground. He shakes Stiles off and moves to the middle of the crowd. “Stop!” he shouts, so loud and clear, Stiles is sure the last person in the Citadel could hear him. “I said _stop_. We’re not enemies anymore. The war is over, this government is over, the regimen is no longer a threat.”

The Monicans lower their guns and listen to him, making it obvious that Stiles had chosen the right person to trust. And Stiles realizes half the guards seem to know Derek, especially a busty blond girl and a tall, dark skinned guy, their eyes wide and trusting They step out of the circle of guards and join Derek, stepping to each side of him. That seems to break the moment, because after them, more and more guards do the same.

Lydia steps out of the Monicans group, too. She stops right in front of Derek, studying him up and down slowly, pursed lips and frowned eyes. “There’s a problem in one of the formulas of your experiment, but overall it’s pretty good,” she finally admits, offering her hand and shaking Derek’s without hesitation.

Stiles joins them, walking slowly because his whole body aches. He stays between the two groups, looking right and left without realizing he’s smiling. An odd thought crossing his mind as Derek reaches toward him, holding his hand. 

Stiles doesn’t fit on either side. He has a little of both. And that seems to be alright.

 

xx

 

A few weeks later, Stiles wakes up in what used to be the old regimen Citadel. Now it’s the new Council City, where elected people from different groups are trying to come up with the best way to make this transition as smooth as possible for everyone in Beacon Hills.

Derek is working with Lydia and a group of scientists to solve the infertility, even though they keep finding more and more women who’ve gotten pregnant naturally. So it seems the cure is closer than they thought. Meanwhile, Stiles has been in charge of the integration of different rebel groups, specifically the Monicans, back in society.

Stiles is in what used to be Derek’s bed, which now he insists on calling theirs. He stirs in his sleep, feeling the extra weight in the bed the moment Derek’s knees press down on the mattress. Rolling over, Stiles lays on his back, eyes still closed but unable to stop himself from smiling. A spike of pure lust bolts through his body at the realization of what Derek is about to do, remembering all those years ago when they used to play at this.

“I know you’re awake,” Derek murmurs, crawling over him in his hands and knees until they are face to face.

“Hmm,” Stiles hums, feeling the cold droplets of water against his sudden flushed skin. “You took a shower.”

“I did,” Derek breaths over his face, and Stiles can practically hear the grin in his voice. Clasping his hands around Derek’s hips, Stiles pulls him down until he has Derek’s damp skin pressed against his own.

“Got yourself ready for me, too?” Stiles asks, eyes finally fluttering open to look up at Derek, unable to resist it anymore.

Derek’s cheeks are flushed red, his pupils dilated to the point that his hazel irises are practically hidden. Nodding, he sits down, straddling Stiles’s hips, showing Stiles how wet and ready he is between his legs.

“Oh my god,” Stiles moans, thrusting up against the heat in his lap. “You drive me crazy, Derek. _Fuck,_ I’m already hard just from imagining you getting yourself ready. Tell me what you did in-”

Derek shoves his tongue in Stiles’ mouth, silencing him. He tilts his hips forward, pressing his wet cock between their stomachs and groaning against Stiles’ open mouth. “I brought the lube to the shower with me,” Derek murmurs between kisses. “I woke up knowing I wanted you inside of me this morning.”

“Oh fuck,” Stiles pants, heavy breathing as he tries to keep his hips from moving, sure he’ll come before they even start otherwise.

“I like to be a little rough on myself when I do it,” Derek keeps saying, lips never leaving Stiles’. “I imagine it’s you. And I only use two fingers, wanting to feel the burn when you finally fuck me. I don’t like to be too loose or wet, I want to feel every inch of you.”

“Derek, please, oh god, _please_ ,” Stiles bubbles, cock throbbing against Derek’s ass.

“Please, what?” Derek asks, leaving small kisses down his chin and throat.

“Oh, for the love of-” Stiles groans. “Would you just sit on my dick already?” he protests, huffing exasperatedly. 

Derek chuckles, pressing his teeth against Stiles’ neck. He takes his time in sucking a mark there, driving Stiles crazy on purpose, before reaching back and aligning himself. “Well, when you say it like that,” he teases as he leans back, moving down on Stiles’ cock in a single, smooth push.

Stiles shouts, muscles taut and body arching off the bed. Before Derek can start moving, Stiles grips his hips _hard_ to keep him in place. Letting out a shudder, Stiles opens his eyes, unable to remember when he had closed them again, and looks up at Derek. 

“You’re a fucking menace.” Stiles grins.

“Hurry up and fuck me.” Derek rolls his eyes, hips pressing down against Stiles’ hands, testing his hold.

“You’re so bossy.” Stiles bites his bottom lip before thrusting up slowly, feeling every inch going in and out as Derek clenches around him. “Fuck, Derek, stop that, I can’t-” Stiles’ voice breaks. He’s so close already. Derek smirks, pressing his hands in the mattress on either side of Stiles’ face and leaning forward to rock back a moment later, hard enough to make Stiles curse.

He lets go of Derek, knowing he’ll start moving instantly, and starts ramming up his ass, in controlled, precise pushes. Stiles feels himself bottoming out, pausing only a moment before pulling almost all the way out and jamming back in. He can’t help but smirk when Derek starts cursing under his breath, his corded arms supporting himself as Stiles moves under him. 

“This is what you wanted?” He breathes out, fingers digging hard on Derek’s hips as he keeps moving, fixed on Derek’s face. “My god, look at you, you’re so beautiful,” Stiles nearly whines. “I love seeing you like this.”

Derek is frowning in concentration, lips parted and cheeks flushed. He seems unable to form words, but he still rocks back against Stiles’ lap until his legs are shaking; his cock throbbing and jerking between them.

“You’re gonna come like this, aren’t you?” Stiles pants. “Without touching yourself. Come on, Derek. Do it for me. I wanna see it.”

Derek curses, words turning into a choked off noise, while his hips pistol harder for a frantic moment. He clenches almost painfully around Stiles, coming a moment later between them, untouched. Stiles whimpers, feeling his orgasm being milked out of him by the way Derek tightens around him, by the way he keeps rocking on top of Stiles, determined to get him off. 

Stiles’ thighs clasp, the taut muscles of his abdomen clenching up as he tenses, encouraging Derek to keep moving, to keep fucking him. “I’m so close, come on-” Stiles’ words turn into a cry as he comes, buried deep in Derek, who drops down and kisses him.

Stiles is so dazed, he can just enjoy the way Derek nips and sucks his lips, the way he still throbs around him for a moment before rolling off Stiles. They stay like that, side by side, as they pant together, catching their breath.

“I say we make a tradition out of this,” Stiles jokes, breathing still erratic. 

Derek snorts, turning to face him and pressing his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder. He runs his fingers over Stiles’ happy trail, up to his chest, where he rests the palm of his hand over Stiles’ still erratic heart. Nudging the side of his face, Derek leans closer, kissing the line of moles along Stiles’ jaw until their lips meet again, slow and softly.

“Why don’t you come see me at the lab later?” Derek whispers against his lips.

“You wanna bend me over the office desk?” Stiles teases, rubbing their noses back and forth together.

“I meant for lunch, but that, too.” Derek pulls back, arching a naughty eyebrow before he leaves the bed.

“Where are you going?” Stiles practically whines, faking a pout.

“I have to shower again before it gets too late.” Derek disappears through the bathroom, giving Stiles a magnificent view of his ass. After a moment of internal debate, Stiles decides to sacrifice his last twenty minutes of sleep to go join him in the shower. 

Later, with Derek’s arms around him, Stiles realizes, not for the first time since they reunited, how lucky they are. For now they can finally move forward, to live only once but with hope.


End file.
